Die Funf
by WaveBringer
Summary: The tale of a small group of mercenaries as they attempt to make their fortune in the Old World, and eventually, beyond. Unfortunately for them, a mercenary's career is never easy, and life is never forgiving.
1. Chapter 1

The sun had barely risen above the numerous houses. The streets of the city were sleepy and inactive. A large manor located in one of the richer districts of the city had a single figure emerge from its imposing steel gates, the sun casting a light shadow before his figure. The man carried an air of importance, his extravagant robes fluttering jauntily in the light breeze, and strode towards a carriage that was already awaiting its passenger. Behind the carriage were maybe twenty guards, all on horseback, present to ensure the man's protection. Lord Bertram Volker entered his ornate wooden carriage for his daily morning stroll.

With a crack of a whip the carriage started at a leisurely pace, Volker already thinking of the coming day's hardships. Trailing the carriage were the group of guards in a double line formation. The guards all wore robes to warm them from the cold temperatures of the morning, the glint of steel in the morning light revealing the chain shirts they wore beneath.

There was a dull thud that sounded from outside. Curious, Volker peered out the side window of his carriage. Just outside, perhaps an arm's length away, his driver lay sprawled on the cold stone of the city's street, an arrow protruding from the side of his head. _Strange,_ Volker thought, his mind still struggling to comprehend the event, _Burke has left his post. I'll have to reprimand him later._

The horses were well trained and disciplined enough to plod on despite the death of their driver. Outside, the guards were in confusion. An arrow had shot through one of the guards, startling the horse, which, in turn startled the other horses. Even the discipline of the carriage horses could not ignore the chaos now surrounding them. The carriage turned and suddenly halted, jolting Volker out of his shocked reverie. Terror gripped him. Another arrow flew from nowhere and another guard died, blood flowing out of the wound. Hearing the guard's tortured scream before death, Volker panicked, cowering in his carriage. At that point, several of the guards did the unthinkable. Several of them turned and attacked their comrades.

Now, unsure whether the man next to them was friend or foe, the guards began to break formation, lashing out at any they perceived to be an enemy. It was not long before the entire procession was gripped in a confused brawl. Two of the "traitor" guards, untouched by the confusion gripping their fellows, had engaged the other guards mercilessly, easily cutting down their confused foes. The third traitor guard, however, stayed back, a strained look of concentration evident on his features. Nearly in unison, the beleaguered guards cried out in surprise, finding that they could barely lift their weapons. To a man, the guards found that their weapons had been turned to heavy, unwieldy lead. The two traitor guards took advantage of this and came upon their foe with a practiced grace, cutting through their basically unarmed enemies.

Inside his carriage, his robes in disarray, Volker shivered in fear. Thoughts raced unceasing within his mind; plans of escape, hopes of rescue, and even speculation on his death intermingled with one another. Suddenly his carriage door opened and Volker nearly died of shock, expecting one of the assassins to clamber in and kill him. Instead he was greeted by one of his guards.

"Quick, we must get out of here!" Volker yelled, fear causing his voice to crack. Perplexed, the guard regarded him strangely.

"Where to, my lord?" he inquired solemnly.

"Back to the manor, to the Watch, anywhere! Anywhere but here!" A grim smile played across the guard's face and Volker knew his mistake.

"How about hell?" the guard replied, thrusting his sword deep into Volker's body.

Finally, the sun overcame the roofing of the houses, at last able to shed a few rays of light on the streets below. Lord Bertram Volker died a bloody death within his carriage. In other parts of the city, several businesses had just opened up shop, their owners eager to face the coming day.

* * *

A man sat alone in a sparsely furnished room. Several potted plants dotted the corners of the square room. The man sat behind a rectangular wooden table and a simple chair with no arms. Behind him was a window, a portal to the outside world that allowed a glimmer of light to shine through. Opposite of the man was a plain wooden door. The door opened.

Five men all entered, one after the other. The first man had blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, standing shorter than those that followed him. The tattered green cloak he had swept over his shoulders further accentuated the simplistic nature of his clothing. The man wore a dry expression upon his face, as if the living took up too much time. Two daggers could be seen on his belt and a sheathed short sword upon his left hip. He walked rather lethargically and slowly reached the table the man was sitting at.

The second man was a tow headed giant, standing at least half a head taller than his fellows. His light blue eyes seemed unnaturally severe, as if always sizing up a potential target. The man wore a short white tunic, a leather belt, and white trousers. A nondescript leather vest was worn over his tunic and a bow was slung across his back, accompanied with a quiver. He followed the first man, adopting his slow pace and stopping several feet behind him.

The third man who entered sported dull gray robes that enveloped his entire person; the only visible feature of him was his face, which seemed to be made of stone. Black hair fell across his brown eyes, which seemed dead, with only the slightest flicker of life. He stood to the side, flanking the first man.

The fourth man entered sporting several weapons on his person, from an axe to a dagger, he carried many armaments. He had similar clothing to the second man and was the second tallest of the group. Sharp, brown eyes peered from beneath a crown of similarly colored hair. He remained by the door, his features seemingly stuck in a perpetual sneer.

The fifth man had a short white tunic and light brown trousers accompanied by a leather belt. He had a longsword sheathed on his left hip, with an elegant hilt. He had dark brown hair and bright eyes. He walked with a rather joyful movement flanking the first man's right.

After the five men had entered and adopted their respective positions around the room, the seated man began to speak,

"Very well done. You five have exceeded my expectations. As promised…"

The man tossed a leather pouch bound with rope. It landed on the table with an audible thud, the enticing jingle of coins coming from within. The man wearing the tattered robes casually picked up the bag and hefted it. He addressed the seated man,

"You're missing some."

"Attentive, I thought you might pick that up. Truly I can trust your abilities," the man placed several more coins on the desk, an apprising smile spread across his lips.

With that, the man in the tattered robes snatched up the coins and pouch and the entire group left the room as if they had not been there.

* * *

Night was fast approaching, moonlight softly illuminating the city. The city was gradually returning to sleep. Inside the Silver Sun Tavern, however, the night was still young and the entire building was bustling with activity. Barmaids rushed to and fro, attending to the many customers. The bartender was busy chatting with several of the regulars, a genuine smile upon his features. Even a group of five was enjoying the atmosphere.

"Cheers, to another job well done!" a man in a green cloak stated.

He raised his mug high and the four others all did the same, their mugs clinking together.

"Really, must you do this every time, Koen?" a man in gray robes inquired casually before sipping his drink.

"Let him have his fun, Braeden. At least this is time to relax," a tallest man of the group said.

"Whatever, you are right, Kaethe."

Koen politely stopped one of the barmaids and asked for their strongest drink. A man with dark brown hair and happy eyes quickly asked for the same.

"If Koen can handle it, I'll show him I can to," the man declared rather confidently.

"Is that so, Varick? Do you remember last time?" Koen questioned mockingly.

"Last time never counts. I already told you that," Varick said defensively.

Varick addressed the man next to him, who seemed determined to keep a dour expression despite the atmosphere around him, "Gunther, show some spirit. At least we're all still alive. C'mon, drink with me."

Gunther nodded. Varick hastily asked another barmaid for their strongest drink. After several minutes of joyful conversation, except for Gunther, who did not say a word, three drinks were placed upon their table. Kaethe and Braeden ceased their conversation. Koen, Varick, and Gunther took their drinks.

"All right Varick, go for it," Koen challenged.

"Eh, you first," Varick replied.

"All right," Koen answered before promptly gulping down his drink. An empty glass hit the table.

Emboldened by this, Varick quickly gulped down his drink, Gunther following suit. Gunther set his down, letting it lightly hit the table. Varick addressed Koen triumphantly,

"See, nothing. I'm untouchab-" before finishing his sentence Varick passed out, hitting the table with a thud.

"Impressive," Braeden muttered under his breath, earning a slight chuckle from Kaethe.

"We'll just have to carry him. Let's enjoy the rest of the night," Koen decided.

Night fell fully across the city.


	2. Chapter 2

Varick opened his eyes and blinked, turning his head away from the powerful light assailing his eyes. After a moment, Varick realized the source of his bright tormentor; it was the sun that now stood blazing cheerily above him, warming his skin and stirring him to consciousness. With a cursory glance, done more out of reflex rather than conscious thought, Varick observed his surroundings with the keenness of a butter knife, still sharp if only barely. His eyes drank in his surroundings, a cobblestone street, several buildings, a mass of people going about their daily business, every detail his eyes could pick out, yet his mind took no note. However, as his eyes fell on a certain building, or, rather, on its sign, memories of the night previous washed over him and Varick's butter knife mind suddenly became as sharp as a saber, though a little bent. _Well, if I could take a guess, _Varick thought while slowly rising from his prone position, doing his best to ignore the many snide remarks and rude stares he now realized he was receiving from passerbys, _the others not only left me behind, but also decided to leave me outside… again_.

* * *

Kaethe wandered aimlessly along the numerous streets of the city while whistling the tune to a song from his home province, Hochland. Closing his eyes he struggled to remember the events of the previous and night and, with a slight chuckle, whether Koen had left Varick again. Finishing the last note of the song with a more than a little relish, Kaethe sighed and opened his eyes. With a start, he realized he was about to experience the unpleasant event of running into a stranger, and a muscular, fierce looking one at that. Kaethe, though, was adept at cheating fate and all its malicious schemings. With a deft twist, Kaethe avoided collision with the man who had just now realized how close the two had come to an awkwardly intimate encounter. Looking down, Kaethe muttered a hurried apology to the man before swiftly continuing on, hoping confrontation could be avoided. Kaethe stopped, along with his heart, when the man called after him.

* * *

"Wait," Gunther basically commanded, "Kaethe, it's me, Gunther."

"What a coincidence," Kaethe responded casually though his heart was still racing, "what brings you to this street?"

The two were now walking the streets again, with no real goal or destination set.

"Trying to clear my mind of last night," Gunther replied.

"Me too, yet another coincidence of life."

"Just like our meeting those years ago," Gunther mumbled lightly, addressing himself just as much as he was Kaethe.

"You mean the time with the merchant, Alaric Kantor?"

"Yeah, that high-and-mighty smug bastard."

"You use that term for just about everybody."

"I think it fits pretty well with him."

"Probably, do you remember that day? I do, but not everything."

"Yeah, only bits and pieces like you, though. Let's try and recall the day that led to us now," Gunther replied sitting down.

"Sure, why not. I've nothing better to do," Kaethe started as they slowly tried to recall the event that brought them together.

* * *

A lone carriage led by two horses was casually making its way through a forest, surrounded by a group of eight guards. The procession moved along an old dirt road leisurely, a light cloud of dust marking the group's progression. Kaethe Brandt whistled a light song that he was taught when he was a boy in Hochland. He had accepted the job to ensure the safety of the merchant Alaric Kantor and while on the journey he had gotten to know several of the guards very well. In particular, Varick Kunze, and Gunther Eisenfaust struck him as an interesting character as well.

Kaethe lazily rolled his head from side to side examining the surroundings. The trees rose up thickly on both sides, their thick branches blocking most of the sun's light creating a strange twilight within the forest. A flicker of movement caught his eye; perhaps it was just his imagination. A cry of warning from one of his fellow guards followed by a sickening thud confirmed his suspicions.

One of the guards cried out in pain, an arrow protruding from his chest. He quickly hit the ground, kicking up clouds of dirt. Alarmed, the remaining seven guards drew their weapons as two more arrows were loosed, taking a guard in the throat and head. Amidst the ensuing chaos, the carriage slewed to a halt, unable to progress.

While the guards were still milling about in confusion, attempting to orient themselves against this sudden attack, their enemy made itself known. Bursting from the surrounding foliage with terrible swiftness, a nightmarish creature charged the procession. It was a skaven.

The creature sped towards the carriage cutting down a guard with the draw of its sword. One of the guards stabbed the skaven with his spear, only to have it deflected, mere moments before a second blade cleaved off his head. An arrow caught the skaven assassin in the leg, and the creature turned to face its new opponent, unfazed by the deep wound in its limb. Kaethe hastily attempted to ready another arrow. The distance between the two closed in an instant, and the creature lashed out with its twin blades. Kaethe knew he faced certain death, but refused to accept it. With a cry of defiance, he flung himself backwards, hoping to avoid the graceful stroke of his attacker. He was not fast enough.

One of the blades sliced across his shoulder, but the other never connected. Gunther stood in front of Kaethe blocking the skaven's second blow. He slashed at the skaven attempting to force him back but was caught by the skaven's second blade. It cut him across the chest and Gunther stepped back.

With a cry of hate, Varick charged the skaven, hoping to catch it off guard with the suddenness of his attack. Placing all his strength into his blow, he brought his blade crashing down onto his opponent's head. However, his opponent weaved around the stroke and the blade lodged itself deep into the earth, leaving Varick open to attack.

Before the skaven could counter-attack, however, Gunther was once more before it. The two swordsmen engaged the skaven assassin, each man handling one of the skaven's blades. The combatants traded blows, evenly matched against one another, until an arrow hit the assassin in the chest. Its beady eyes wide with shock, the Skaven stared down at the deep stain of red spreading across its clothing. While it was distracted, Gunther removed its head with one swift sword stroke. The skaven fell to the ground. Immediately the remaining guards cheered, the skaven was dead. The four guards rushed to the carriage to tell Kantor the good news.

"Kantor, the skaven is dead! We have won," Varick exclaimed as he opened the carriage door.

As he opened the door he stumbled back, shocked. The other three gathered around the carriage to see the cause. Inside, Alaric Kantor lay in a red pool of his own blood, a slim, crimson stained dagger protruding from his body still clasped in his hands. Kaethe nearly screamed, the other guard fell to his knees, and Gunther nearly laughed at the cruel irony that fate had wrought.

* * *

Amidst a copse of green lush trees was a small camp warmed by a single, defiant fire. Four figures adorned various positions around the camp. The moon's solemn light and the night's dead silence added to the grim atmosphere created by Alaric Kantor's death. Varick dared to break the somber silence.

"Um," he faltered, the silence created a difficult barrier, "so how about it? I suggest we all work together from now on. I mean," he stumbled, "we work pretty well together, right?"

"I do not believe failure constitutes praiseworthy teamwork," the remaining guard, Barthel, spat.

"That is correct," Gunther agreed dryly.

"Even so, we did our best. It would appear, however, that Alaric Kantor's strength was lacking. The failure could hardly be considered our fault. I believe it is true, that while we were not successful, we did display several admirable traits in our service together, even if for that brief moment," Kaethe countered, though his voice was confident, his face was emotionless.

Barthel did not speak. Contrarily, Gunther rose, "I can agree with that, if only to mend the mistakes of today in continued service with you fellows. To that end, I agree to this proposition and join," he announced.

"As you can tell by my defense of Kunze, I to agree with this proposition and join as well," Kaethe stated.

"Barthel?" Varick inquired.

"Sorry, I'll pass. I'll leave this failure in the past where it belongs. I can't work with a group that was created to amend for it. I'll part with you at the next city," Barthel said. After a pause, he added, "However, I still wish you good luck on your travels."

"I understand," Varick acknowledged, "Gunther, Kaethe, I guess that means we will be traveling together from now on, correct?"

"It would appear so," Kaethe agreed.

"And so," Gunther rose, "will we have a name for this group?"

* * *

A voice startled Gunther and Kaethe from their reveries. Both recognized the voice and the figure that owned it. Braeden Kaiser.

"Kaethe, Gunther," Braeden addressed them tonelessly, "we have another job."

"I see, quicker than usual," Gunther commented knowingly.

"And here I was hoping for at least _two_ days of rest. I guess it really was too much to ask," Kaethe mumbled.

"You're not the only one," Braeden commented, though his face remained emotionless, "alright, you remember, follow me."

Braeden then presumed to walk away, with Kaethe and Gunther following.


End file.
